


When It All Becomes Too Much

by reallooney



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Sensory Overload, Sick Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Sickfic, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, concussion, geraskier sickfic, injured geralt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:27:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26249434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reallooney/pseuds/reallooney
Summary: After a concussion, Geralt struggles with sensory overload as he accompanies Jaskier to a banquet. Jaskier, as always, is right there and ready to help.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 19
Kudos: 267





	1. Chapter 1

Geralt was having a rough day. The contract he’d picked up was supposed to be an easy, quick job—a rock troll, which more often than not were able to be reasoned with—but this rock troll had turned out to actually be a pair of rock trolls, neither of them willing to talk with Geralt about leaving the neighboring village alone. And on top of all of that, it was pouring rain. 

By the time he took down the first troll he was soaked to the skin. The second troll had taken a few good hits too, but watching its partner die seemed to re-invigorate it. Geralt on the other hand, was tired. He’d been traveling at a hard pace for the past week. This contract was supposed to be a quick job. Geralt figured this what he got for expecting something easy. 

He dodged as the troll threw a fist sized stone at his head, the projectile missing his skull by inches. It was still approaching quickly though. Geralt slashed with his sword, leaving a cut across its chest, but it wasn’t enough. Quicker than he anticipated the troll shoved him backwards, his head smacking against the tree trunk behind him with a loud crack. Black spots danced in his line of vision and the world spun dangerously around him. Disoriented, Geralt almost didn’t move out of the way as the troll struck downwards, aiming to hit Geralt right on the top of the head. Even so, he only barely moved quick enough; the troll clipped him right on the tip of his shoulder. He crumpled, falling to his knees as the troll bore down on him from above. Geralt stabbed up with his sword from his new position on the ground, skewering the troll through its throat, its mouth, and then into its brain. It fell over dead. Geralt had just enough time to roll out of the way before it hit the ground where he had been just moments before. 

Geralt let himself just lie there for a few seconds, panting and exhausted, the world still spinning around him, his shoulder and head throbbing. He focused on regulating his breathing as the rain continued to fall, soaking through his armor and clothing. If he’d had the time he would have let himself rest a little bit longer before getting on Roach and heading back into town, but today he didn’t have time. Today he had somewhere he needed to be. 

Reluctantly, he stood up, taking inventory of his body as he did. His shoulder was sore, but unbroken and still in it’s socket. His head was a whole other matter. There was a pronounced lump on the back of his skull where it had hit the tree, and he still felt a bit dizzy and disoriented. The raindrops plummeting to the ground all around him, making it look as if the sky was falling, definitely didn’t help. He swallowed his nausea as he made his way back over to Roach. 

“Ready to go Roach?” he asked, situating himself in the saddle. “We don’t want to be late.” 

***

A few weeks ago, Geralt had gotten a letter from his good friend Jaskier. The bard would be in Temeria to perform at an important banquet, and he had asked if Geralt would like to accompany him as a bodyguard, as he’d done several times before. Since receiving the letter, he had made his way across The Continent to Temeria. He’d fallen behind schedule about a week ago, and had to pick up his pace. Tonight was when he was supposed to meet Jaskier. He’d taken the rock troll job because he’d thought it would be quick. Looking back, he probably should have played it a bit safer. Too late for regrets now though. He urged Roach to go faster. He still needed to bathe and make himself presentable. 

In the letter Jaskier had instructed Geralt to meet him where the banquet was being held, apparently trusting him enough to let him dress himself this time. Geralt just hoped he would make it there on time. 

***

Once back in town, Geralt got a room at the inn. It wasn’t much; it had a bath though, and a bed. That was all he needed. It took all his self control not to collapse on the bed as soon as he made it to his room. He was still soaking wet though, and he really didn’t have time to rest anyway. Luckily there was a bath ready for him. 

He stripped out of his wet clothes and armor, leaving them in a dripping pile on the floor as he lowered himself into the water. The warmth relaxed his sore muscles and helped to bring back the feeling to his fingers and toes, which he’d lost during the long ride through the cold, unrelenting rain. 

There was a deep purple and blue bruise flowering across his right shoulder, and it was stiff as he rolled it, making sure there were no torn muscles or tendons. Other than the soreness though, he seemed relatively unscathed. If only his head would stop throbbing. 

Sooner than he would have liked, he had to get out of the bath and start to get ready. Jaskier wouldn’t appreciate it if he was late, and anyways, he was excited to see his friend. It had been awhile since he and Jaskier had crossed paths. He was kicking himself for taking the rock troll contract this morning, unhappy that he’d be so tired for the night’s festivities. No matter. It wasn’t like he was a fan of big parties anyway. He was only going as a favor to Jaskier. There really was nothing to worry about. He knew after a few drinks and a good meal he would be as good as new. 

Hopefully he would be able to catch up with the bard away from the crowds. It had been too long since he’d seen his friend, and wasn’t about to let a sore shoulder and a headache ruin tonight for him.


	2. Chapter 2

It had been quite awhile since Geralt had been anywhere that required clothes fancier than his everyday attire and armor. He’d forgotten how uncomfortable it was. Had the fabric scratching at his wrists and the back of his neck always been this hard to ignore? He adjusted his shirt, trying to alleviate some of the irritation. Maybe it was time he invested in some higher quality formal wear. 

As he entered the banquet, he scanned the hall for Jaskier. It was a lot more crowded than he had anticipated. This was hardly an issue though; Jaskier had never been one to blend in with a crowd. It didn’t take long to spot him, engaged in an animated discussion with someone Geralt didn’t know. He seemed fairly immersed in his conversation, but as soon as he caught sight of Geralt his face lit up, breaking out in a huge grin. He turned back to the person he’d been talking to, seeming to pause the conversation, and then made his way over to the Witcher. 

“Geralt!” 

It had been several months since they’d seen each other, but it felt like longer. 

“It’s so good to see you.” 

Without waiting for a response, he led Geralt over to the person he’d been talking to before. The next few minutes were spent following Jaskier around as he introduced him to various party goers. Soon enough though, Jaskier had to leave to fulfill his role as the bard, and Geralt was left to his own devices. 

He found a place to sit where he could be relatively isolated while still able to keep an eye on Jaskier. He’d thought getting some food, and maybe a little bit drunk would get rid of his headache, but after a couple of bites he found himself pushing his plate away. There was still a steady throbbing pain radiating from the back of his head, and the food was just making him feel nauseous, the drink making him dizzy. Perhaps he should have done more to evaluate his injury earlier, but it was too late now—he was already here. 

***

As the night passed, Geralt became more and more miserable. The headache didn’t seem to be going anywhere, and now added to that, the pain in his shoulder was radiating up his neck and intensifying it. 

He could deal with pain though. As a Witcher, compartmentalizing pain and discomfort was something he’d mastered a long time ago. What he couldn’t do was stop the onslaught of sensory input from the banquet happening all around him. Another side effect of his Witcher status was his extraordinary senses. 

During battle, or when he was trying to track something, they were a blessing. Pretty much any other time they were a curse. When he’d first gone through the trials he’d found his new senses to be almost debilitating. It was overwhelming to have so much constant sensory input. Over the years he had learned how to tune it out and only focus on what he needed, but even in the best of circumstances it took effort. Now, in the loud, echoing banquet hall filled with altogether too many people, he was finding it increasingly difficult to filter out all of the extra. It made his head hurt worse. The people were too loud, the smell of the food too strong, and the itchy irritation from his dress clothes now bordered on painful. It was as if everything had been turned up a few too many notches. 

He went from trying to focus on watching and listening to Jaskier, to just trying to resist the urge to put his hands over his ears and lay his head on the table. He did his best not to let his growing discomfort show, but under the table his hands were clenched into fists. He hoped the sharp pin pricks of pain where his fingernails dug into his skin would help keep him grounded. 

By the time Jaskier finished performing and the banquet began to die down, Geralt had almost completely checked out. He felt bad for not paying closer attention to the bard—he was supposed to be here as his protection after all—but it was all he could do not to give up and leave the party completely without even saying goodbye. 

He didn’t even notice Jaskier had finished his performance until he came and sat next to Geralt. The hand he laid on Geralt’s shoulder to get his attention almost made him jump out of his skin. It startled him and sent a jolt of pain through his shoulder and neck. 

“Sorry,” Jaskier said, pulling his hand back. He must have noticed how Geralt had started at his touch. 

“It’s alright,” Geralt grumbled, his hands still in fists under the table. 

“Are you okay, Geralt?” Jaskier asked, sounding concerned. 

Even with the party ending, the volume in the hall remained too loud. It was hard for Geralt to tune it out enough to even hear what Jaskier was saying. He did his best to focus on just the bard, looking in his eyes, trying to read his expression. He looked wary. 

“I’m fine,” he lied. “I’ve just had a long day.” 

The pain in his head radiated down his back and pounded behind his eyes. He gritted his teeth, trying to suppress the nausea that crept up his throat. 

“You don’t look well,” Jaskier said bluntly. He’d never been one to dance around a point. 

“I don’t feel well,” Geralt replied, deciding that lying to Jaskier would only waste his time. He wanted more than anything to leave, so a long drawn out conversation trying to convince Jaskier to believe an obvious lie, would really do nothing for him. 

Jaskier slid closer to Geralt, probably in an attempt to hear the Witcher’s mumbling better over the sound of everything else going on. 

“What’s going on? What happened?”

“Had a rough morning,” Geralt answered curtly. 

“What does that mean? Are you injured?” 

“I took a pretty good hit to the head. It isn’t a big deal. The party is just a bit much.” 

“Well you look awful, Geralt,” Jaskier said. 

If he didn’t feel so miserable he might have made a joke about how he always appreciated the bard’s compliments. As it was, he kept his mouth shut. He enjoyed spending time with Jaskier, but right now he just wanted this conversation to end so he could leave this god forsaken banquet. 

“Here, I have a room upstairs,” Jaskier said, holding his hand out to Geralt. “Let’s get you out of here.”


	3. Chapter 3

Jaskier led Geralt upstairs and away from the party, bringing him into a spacious, and thankfully silent room. 

“Alright,” Jaskier said, “what do I do to help?” 

Geralt rubbed his eyes with one hand, pressing them shut and trying to think. 

“I just need a minute to sit.” 

Even out of the overwhelming banquet hall, his head was still pounding. The feeling that he might be sick hadn’t gone anywhere, his nausea and slight dizziness making a deadly pair. It had been awhile since he’d taken a good hit to the head. He’d forgotten how miserable they could be. He figured he might feel better if he just threw up, but he decided against it. He didn’t want to have to deal with the mess, and, although he didn’t want to admit it, he was reluctant to appear that miserable in front of Jaskier. 

Instead he walked over to an armchair and sat down, putting his elbows on his knees and pressing his hands against his eyes, willing the nausea to go away. 

He stayed like that for a minute or so, but true to form, Jaskier didn’t stay quiet for long.

“So what happened?”

Geralt didn’t look up. “Rock trolls.” He had neither the energy nor the desire to explain further. 

“Right. Well, you’re welcome to stay here as long as you like. Make yourself comfortable. Are you hungry? I’m starving. I completely forgot to eat that whole time we were at the banquet. Can you believe it?” 

Geralt could believe it. Jaskier was known to get distracted performing or socializing and forget pretty much everything else. This was very on brand for him. 

“I’m not hungry.”

“Suit yourself,” Jaskier replied. “I’m going to go get some food; feel free to make yourself at home.” With that, he exited the room, leaving Geralt to himself with his blessed silence. 

After a minute or two of internal debate he decided to take off his dress shirt. Try as he might, he couldn’t manage to ignore the irritating fabric against his skin. And the thin layer of cold sweat which now covered his chest, causing the shirt to stick to him, was just making things worse. Anyway, it wasn’t anything Jaskier hadn’t seen before. 

He was a lot more comfortable once it was off. Leaning back in the chair, he closed his eyes, focusing only on his breathing. 

Too soon though, he heard Jaskier’s footsteps returning. The bard wasn’t two steps into the room when he put his plate of food down and walked back over to Geralt. 

“Gods, what did you do?” He placed a cool hand on Geralt’s shoulder. The Witcher made a concentrated effort not to flinch away from his touch. He opened his eyes to see what Jaskier was referencing. The bard was looking at the dark bruise that covered his whole shoulder, creeping onto his chest and upper back. 

“Fuck, Geralt you are so tense,” Jaskier asserted, already distracted again. He brushed his hand up Geralt’s neck, pressing gently against his stiff muscles. “You need to relax.” 

“Do I?” Geralt grumbled, admittedly amused. 

“Yes. I swear one of these days your muscles are just going to snap.” He brought up his second hand and started massaging Geralt’s neck. 

“Hmm.” Geralt had to admit, it felt divine. He closed his eyes and eased into the bard’s touch as he tried to work the knots out of Geralt’s neck muscles. His fingers made their way up into Geralt’s hair, gently massaging his scalp and working the small pieces of fabric out from where they tied his hair back. 

“Come on—you aren’t going anywhere—I told you to make yourself comfortable.” He undid the last of Geralt’s hair, letting it all fall loose around his shoulders. This, paired with Jaskier’s gentle fingers, which had now moved down to his temples, did wonders easing the pain in his head. 

“I have a room in town,” Geralt argued halfheartedly. “I really should get back.” 

“You’re crazy if you think I’m going to let you leave here in your state,” Jaskier replied. 

Of course there was no way the bard could stop him if he really wanted to go, but he did concede that Jaskier had made an incredibly comfortable space for him here. He wasn’t very eager to leave. 

Jaskier knelt at his feet, unfastening Geralt’s shoes and slipping them off. 

“I’m serious, come on,” Jaskier said, gently tugging at the ankle of Geralt’s pants. “Let’s get you to bed, you look exhausted.” 

Geralt wasn’t sure how he felt being told what to do, but bed did sound pretty good right about now. It had been the middle of the night when the banquet had started to die down. They must be nearing the early hours of the morning now. 

The combination of the massage and the quiet room had relaxed him enough to get rid of a lot of his headache, and he felt considerably less nauseous. If he let himself, he could probably be asleep in minutes. 

He left his pants on the floor in a heap next to his shoes and climbed into the large bed. The sheets were soft and clean against his skin, feeling like the absolute opposite of how his dress shirt had. 

He leaned up against the headboard, absentmindedly watching as Jaskier returned to his plate of food. 

“So why did you come tonight?” Jaskier asked around a mouthful of chicken. “If you’d had such a rough morning.” 

“You asked me to,” Geralt answered simply. “You said you needed a bodyguard. I couldn’t let you down.” 

“I’ve progressed past the part of my life where I need constant supervision anytime I’m in public.” Jaskier chuckled. “I sent that letter because I wanted to see you, Geralt.” 

“I know,” Geralt responded. 

“So then why did you come? If you knew that, and you really did feel that poorly.” He trailed off, waiting for Geralt’s response. 

He had to stop and think for a moment. Jaskier was right. He’d known Jaskier could take care of himself. He could have easily stayed and slept off his injuries at the inn. So then why had he come? 

The answer was obvious, but it was difficult to confront. Something though—whether it was the head injury, or the exhaustion, or the way the firelight shone on Jaskier’s face—made him want to tell the truth. 

“I came because I wanted to see you too,” he said. 

The light in the room was dim, but Geralt could still see the blush on Jaskier’s cheeks. It wasn’t often that Geralt was open about things like this. 

“I came because I missed you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About two days after i wrote this I got a headache so bad I felt like I was gonna throw up. Karma I guess lmao


End file.
